


The Return of the Prodigal Son

by L_C_Weary



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apples, Bad Parenting, Gen, Guilt, Healing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Light Angst, Orlant (Captive Prince) Lives, Post-Canon, Swearing, The Regent As A Content Warning, family conflicts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 02:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17215325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_C_Weary/pseuds/L_C_Weary
Summary: Aimeric returned to Fortaine to grieve everything he lost.





	The Return of the Prodigal Son

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fragiledewdrop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fragiledewdrop/gifts).



> This is my Captive Prince Secret Santa Gift for the amazing, one and only Fragiledewdrop. As I was given a free hand I chose a requested character, Aimeric and did bit of a character study of some sort. (And included Loyse, because I love her.)
> 
> It was such a trip to write this, I really hope it's something you also can enjoy, I hope it's a good surprise! Have a magical holiday season, Fragiledewdrop!
> 
> Keep in mind, English is not my first language. My beta was my fantastic fanfiction queen [Sophieistrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophieistrash), who actually knows how to speak this language. I can't thank her enough. I'm forever grateful.

Fortaine was the grayest place in the whole wild world. It was one big fort and a tiny village surrounding it, at the foot of a mountain, a small patch of forest and crop fields, color dark, ashy at this time of the year.

From the road Aimeric took - a small path for a lone rider over the hill - he could see the strong walls of the fort, thick cobblestone walls with heavy earth-brown doors and ivies crawling up at the sides, creating the illusion that Fortaine was, indeed, abandoned.

In his mind Fortaine always lived as an extremely ugly place and his gut was telling him that wasn’t far from the truth. He knew Arles now, he knew other big cities, places at the border, Breteau, Ravenel, lands where people actually lived not just existed. Fortaine was not one of them.

He could only prolong his arrival so much, without turning any other direction, he was going to reach the fort in an hour at most. The sun was reaching mid-sky and the maddening feeling in his stomach was not going away.

He hated Fortaine from his childhood, first out of boredom, which later easily became spite, until it created a mess of emotions represented by the mock of a castle, patched together out of ill-placed cliffs and evergreen trees. Fortaine became the symbol of uselessness, isolation and stupid tasks his father made him do.

While he let his horse take up a casual speed, trying to get down from the hill into the valley, which held Fortaine, he tried to prepare himself for the conversation he had to manage. The two middle sons of Guion were probably not even in the region, but the heir to Fortaine and his god knows how many children - if his wife had been actually blessed by the town witch to have triplets when Aimeric had left the town - were supposed to be there. Their father was away, so Bertrand, the oldest son of Guion could be sprawled on his throne, quite self-satisfied as he did. Not that it meant fucking much, it was just one piece of border. It meant not a fucking thing.

His mother was probably at home. Lady Loyse of Fortaine only left the fort when the most pressing need presented itself. Usually to attend a meeting with her husband, when it was essential to paint a certain picture about the family. Thanks to her heritage she enjoyed farming, from being under the hot sun for hours to the heavy labor and the isolation, something Aimeric had no capacity to comprehend. His mother was a smart, imaginative woman, it was a wonder why she settled for it. Aimeric viciously hated everything that was agriculture, he hated the smell of the animals, the mud, the piss colored wheat. He hated how his father wanted him to be nothing more than a pig on his farm, a special pig that observed and controlled the other pigs - be it the servants or the actual animals -, but a pig nonetheless.

The reason he was sent home earlier was not something he needed to share with his relatives, not necessarily. He was proud enough to let certain details left out. His brother wouldn't believe him even if he was telling the truth, Bertrand was so sure Aimeric just went to suck cock to the army, the peasants probably gave no fuck at all, a feeling which was mutual, his mother might have been the only one to ever be worried if Aimeric lived or died while fighting for something he believed in. It was a mild inconvenience people thought he believed something as false as the prince.

He still couldn't comprehend it. He still felt like _he_ was going to return to the throne room, threw the imbecile out and be crowned king. Aimeric was waiting for _him_ to come and collect him, he waited every night since he was sent off from Ios, for the messengers _he_ sent to tell Aimeric, _he_ won and that _he_ wanted Aimeric next to _him_. To be together as _he_ promised.

Aimeric, while growing up, experienced hatred, from the slow but deeply seat kind to the vehement, burning, short-lasting flame. He hated the work he was made to do, hated his father for never even acknowledging his skills and work, hated his brothers for getting everything he was not even offered, hated the people who thought it was so much easier for him because his family had money, hated his mother for always trying to protect him, belittling him, but never actually helping when it came to his father, hated himself when his features lost their charm and _he_ left him.

Aimeric hated a lot of things and he was familiar with the burning feeling he got inside his chest when it was the prince he had to bow to. The egocentric, fucking traitor of a bitch. The prince should’ve killed himself, he was no rightful king of any place on this goddamn world. He never deserved the crown. It was _his._ And the prince killed _him_. _Him_ , who Aimeric loved so much, the _only_ person who loved Aimeric, the only person to stand next to him. _He_ was taken by a traitor and everyone was celebrating, like this was supposed to happen. Like this was the good, the _happy_ ending of the story.

Aimeric's heart was constantly in flames, without actively thinking about what happened, although it was nearly impossible to distract himself from the tragedy of Ios. But it was a just a matter of time. People had to see the truth, sooner or later.

Aimeric was not waiting for them, he knew what was real and what was not, and for some time it was enough. He might have been called a traitor but he knew his heart was at the right place. He loved and hated, but he knew which emotion he needed to direct at who.

He reached the fort around lunch time, it was calm and lazy, everything paused in motion. The signs of work were all around, papers, baskets, anvils showed recent usage, but no one was present and would not be for a good hour now. He met a few servants on his way to the stable, then to the main building, they politely greeted him, few of them somehow looked glad he was back. The feeling inside Aimeric, the need to fight someone, rose. That was the coping mechanism he took up at the army.

His rising fury at least pushed his embarrassment and nervousness down, so he skipped the hesitation whether to be a coward and shy away from the confrontation with his brother or not. He let his legs lead him to the giant office of Fortaine.

It proved to be useless to rile himself up, the office was locked, which was not a surprise, his brother often used mock annoyance to send him away when he wanted to look busy, but the offended _leave me, brother_ never came.

In order not to lash out on a servant, he went into the kitchen, where possible his mother spent lunch time. She liked to dine with the servants of Fortaine, when her husband was not there to tell her how to act. In late winter times when the work was less than in the sunny seasons, she spent her time by sewing and reading, helping locals, trading what was left of last season's harvest and cooking.

Aimeric's hunch was accurate, in front of the giant stove on the brick ledge sat the lady of Fortaine, and while everyone was eating or taking a nap on the benches, she was picking and cleaning chestnuts.

Her seat looked uncomfortable, she suffered from back pains since Aimeric could remember but she liked her place, back flush against the warm structure of the stove. Her light brown hair was in a lazy bun, ornamented with braids - an example of a hobby she had to give up after giving birth to sons with no sense of elegant beauty - and she wore a dark brown dress, which resembled a peasant woman's dress. It lacked decorating laces, golden string or confusing cutting. The dress had silver cuffs, but it didn't make Loyse seem casual or free, it made her look worn and dirty.

She looked up, her once puffy cheeks were sunken and her aristocratic features, the high cheekbones, the clean cut nose, smooth, pale skin looked like she was from a faded, darkened painting, where only the harsh lines were visible. She didn't look like any other aristocrat, she looked like a peasant born too beautiful for not be marked as a bastard by the village.

"Morning, mother," he said, voice uncertain all of a sudden. It helped little how his stomach was churning with resentment and spite. Loyse was still his mother. Her welcoming smile was bitter, but Aimeric knew it was not directed at him. Her smiles were all bitter for years now. This one looked a bit less ruined than others.

Aimeric remembered, vividly, how he, in his childhood imagined all those stories his mother told were actually about her, her younger self, getting into trouble, fighting dragons, getting caught in fairy trading business, climbing mountains for lost stars. Those were memories he could gather from his childhood and were pleasant memories. Those were magical things, so completely out his father's materialistic and practical ways.

Loyse carefully put the pot of cleaned chestnuts down and got up, while Aimeric stood around useless. She came close and stood on her tiptoes to be able to reach Aimeric's cheeks and kissed him. She had to support herself by holding Aimeric's arm, but at least her grip was firm and hot. It proved that it was actually happening, the war was almost over and Aimeric lost in the most comical way. Aimeric hugged her too, before it would look like he wanted to evade it. Loyse was not a woman of caresses and Aimeric came to understand when it meant much to her.

"Welcome home, son," she said, voice unusually strained. She cleared her throat as she let him go. "I'm glad you're back in one piece," she said, voice low and soft, like the warmness of the room made it pliant. She took a step back and while holding his face between her hands examined him, the humor of the situation forced as it was long lost, but she still tried to paint a certain image.

She was shorter than him, about a head at least, yet the motherly gesture of holding his cheeks made Aimeric feel smaller. She didn't need height, just a soft caress of her dusty, winter-smelling hands and a smile, watery grey eyes sad. It was a miracle Aimeric ever noticed they were sad, they always looked the same.

"I brought you an apple," he said desperately trying to sound lighthearted. He needed the moment to break and also to make sure, no one realized he was actually a loser of the war.

Aimeric reached inside his bag and gave the woman a small, green apple. It was supposed to be a joke, something Loyse always referred to. She used to say that having an apple with you could save your life. To her small boys it sounded silly, so she reasoned, even if you wouldn't eat it, which was a crime - _it's tasty, boys_ \- if someone attacked you, you could throw it at them. She made up that part when Aimeric's youngest brother, who still had three years on Aimeric, complained that it was difficult to eat the fresh, hard-to-bite apples, so he started to throw them at the floor, which simultaneously ruined the apple and the cleaned dining hall.

Loyse took it, letting go of Aimeric's face, her smile turning into a different kind, softer, more honest, which was still punctuated by politeness and the nature made for hiding.

"I'm glad you're home, Aimeric," she said looking up at him. Aimeric got dizzy for a moment.

"Well, the fights are over." He was trying to sound happy. He knew his mother was pleasantly surprised when he made clear he wanted to join the prince's army, against his father's threats. He wanted to vomit, from the thought his own mother wanted him to be a traitor, and not support someone who was to be a better king.

She wasn't a bad person, never would've wanted such an imbecile on the throne, she just seemed obsessed with the accusation that _he_ was bad for Aimeric, _he_ was bad for Guion, _he_ was bad for the whole of Fortaine, for the whole country. Which was stupid, but it was something his mother couldn't know, she only cared about a certain part of politics, which concerned her - the farming, the trading - and couldn't see the bigger picture. Sometimes even all-seeing creatures like mothers couldn't see beyond their noses.

"And your father?" she asked at last. Aimeric twitched his lips upwards, trying for sympathetic. At that moment he couldn't care less about what his father had to endure or what he promised. They, the family, was going to pay the price for sure, but he gave no fucks at that moment.

"He might not be home for a while," he said carefully, not sure how it would affect Loyse, his parents' relationship was always a wonder to him. It was not just the prince's - honest to the god, surprisingly not merciless - act that he let him home, but it was also his job to inform his mother and brothers that Guion's state was to be discussed in the coming weeks in Arles, and if decided they would be informed either way.

Aimeric wanted to make himself suffer under the prince, in order to feel pleasantly shitty, to have another reason to hate that bitch, but even if it was a punishment, it was a mild one. An infuriatingly mild one. He got his fair share of shame when the prince questioned him and it was awful, he hated to admit it but it did shook him to the core and still. He was anticipating something so much worse. Not sure why, the prince might have had some crazy scheme that was going to cause him more humiliation and suffering, or the prince was to use him for something - probably not against his father, it would have been useless - but it would've been silly to expect bodily harm. The prince had his own methods and it was more of the loss of dignity than of limbs.

He was in no mood of answering more questions, even this few minutes spent with a human again made him tired, so it was a blessing his mother took it well. She was smart enough to guess that if her husband took one side, her son another, someone was going to fall, or at least not finish the war unharmed.

Aimeric, suddenly, realized what it must've felt like to his mother. Her husband making the right decision of supporting a true man for once - even though she didn't understand it - and his son was acting like he chose the other side, a traitor, a spoiled kid. He wanted to tell her that for once Guion made the right decision, but they fucked it up. All of them. If it wasn't for the fucking Akielons maybe it would have been easier for _him_ and the supporters to secure _his_ reign, but no one calculated what the prince or the Akielon dog was capable of. What kind of _fucked up_ their relationship had to be to ignore that one kept the other as a slave? Or killed your beloved brother, the prince's attitude was supposed to be chilly because of that. They were power-hungry lunatics.

"Alright," she said reservedly. "Your brother, Bertrand, will be home in a few weeks, he's in Ver-Kindt now. Frédéric is hunting somewhere in the northern region. Have you seen Corin while in you were in Arles?” she asked in a conversational tone. Aimeric didn't need to keep himself from wincing, it didn't even occur to him that he could've gone and pay a visit to his brother in the capital.

"I had no chance," he said, not putting the _unfortunately_ there, because it would've been an ugly lie.

"Very well," said Loyse, not voicing her disapproval of Aimeric. "I already had lunch, but we have plenty of stew left, if you would like some."

Aimeric must have learnt something in the army because he was able to force his face to stay intact. "No, thank you, I think I would prefer a bit of solitude," he said apologetically. "I have yet to sleep a full night since the fights are over," he tried to explain, not even convincing himself.

Loyse smiled and Aimeric almost shivered from the realization suddenly hitting him. Loyse knew. She knew everything. From the spying to the fact how he was not enough. It was in her eyes, in her solid press of lips, but she said nothing. As usual, she said nothing.

* * *

Aimeric's oldest brother, Bertrand, got home two weeks into Aimeric’s own return. In that two weeks, he basically did everything and nothing at once. While he put his hand to work in order to at least do something and avoid the unnecessary confrontation with his mother, he successfully lost himself in time.

He helped with the horses, from cleaning them to training them, he found comfort in sitting in stuffy old rooms and doing catalogs all day in his well-deserved solitude. When his mother asked him - somehow when she asked him to help, instead of his father ordering him to do it, it was easier to endure it -, he even went into the town, but he prefer to evade it. He had no desire to talk to the people who change only in their age as years went by.

While he was away, people have died, some have had kids, some have found love, but in general it was just the same boring community, masters and peasants, just working and gossiping about how lovely Frédéric's small daughter was, or how wonderful it was that Corin had been promoted. The small satisfaction was that people rarely mentioned Bertrand outside the fact that everyone was in love with his wife. Years ago Aimeric almost shared that sentiment, before he had the fortune to spend a dinner next to her. It had become apparent she was not a poor girl lured into an unfortunate marriage, she was the same kind of arrogance wrapped up in gold as Aimeric's brother.

Nothing moved in the town except for time.

He enjoyed the work more than he anticipated. It was just like doing drills in the army, it took his mind off of the more pressing issues - back then of the spying and betraying some of the men, who would have been actually worthy of a true fight -, now what he would have to endure from his brothers.

The wait for the ominous return of Bertrand was making him impulsive. It was a game Bertrand played, he made everyone wait for him, just for the sake of it. Aimeric logically knew Bertrand had nothing on him, he shouldn't have cared, not a bit, but the annoying cloud he brought with himself always unsettled Aimeric. He had no place to relax, it was either the past or the future to disturb him.

He tried to steel himself, but he knew it made no difference while he made it through a war, his brothers spent in their luxurious homes, they were only going to use this to tease him and he lost the last person to ever stand next to him. Well, _he_ never actually stood next to him, but at least Aimeric knew he wasn't alone. Now he wasn't so sure. Maybe his mother cared enough, but he was supposed to be a grown man, who could protect himself, someone who didn’t rely solely on his mother. He tried to repeat it enough times for it to become the truth.

When Bertrand arrived it was nothing special, just what always happened. He timed his dramatic welcome when Aimeric was covered in mud, half-sleepy, or in this case was dusty from reorganizing their equipment of scythes for when the summer came it was in order and already done. His new mania surprised everyone from Loyse to the servants, and he knew he urgently had to find something to occupy himself with, because it started to become obsessive and embarrassing.

Bertrand’s smile was smug when he saw Aimeric dirty and sweaty. Aimeric's brothers avoided labor work like Aimeric avoided conversations with his father on daily basis. Frédéric liked sword-fighting, something he took up when he realized it appealed to girls, and kept when he realized sports weren't harmful exactly, but tried nothing more.

"Brother," Bertrand smirked, opening his arms, then putting them down, like he just saw how dirty Aimeric was. "Well, maybe later," he said, like they traditionally hugged each other as greeting. Aimeric knew only _him_ and his mother held Aimeric close since he turned six or so.

"Bertrand," he nodded. His chest was heavy for days because of the outcome this conversation might had, and now it came so suddenly it felt less significant all of sudden. He turned to leave for the next chamber, where they kept the plows, since he knew how to polish swords, he was positive he could manage those too.

"Are you not joining us for lunch?” asked his brother innocently, his voice resonating the need for a fight. Aimeric scoffed as he send an incredulous look over his shoulder. He saw his brother's nostrils flare. "It would do well for you," he said. His voice lacked the playfulness of teasing Aimeric it had a moment ago. It was just venom now. He needed to win every fight he initiated. "It seems the low-life soldiers rubbed off on you." He made his intentions clear.

Aimeric was better than to rise to this bait. He knew it. So he turned back to his brother, smile splitting his face. He knew he looked murderous. After all, Aimeric learned how to do that.

"The low-life soldiers?” he asked voice without harm. "Oh, the one who protected your ass, while you sat in your office doing nothing but jerk off?" Bertrand looked at him, disappointed, head shaking.

"Do you actually think soldiers win wars, brother?" His voice communicated he was pained by Aimeric's stupidity. "Soldiers are the men that can't help with their minds, only their muscles." A pause. "Or not even that," he finished looking over Aimeric.

He managed not to shake with anger. He knew he was no longer bony and delicate. He knew perfectly well, he lost someone because of the charm he had shed, but he also knew he gained strength in the army. If Prince Laurent deserved praise for something it was his fucking army. And maybe the way he could open his legs.

"People with talent and political influence," Bertrand explained. "They win wars."

"Yes, men who are smart enough," he said choking on his own rage. "What did you do, brother, to help either the Regent or Prince Laurent? As I heard the only achievement you had this year is coming inside your wife."

"Oh, wow, mother would be proud of you," acted Bertrand as the concerned big brother, changing tactics, except Aimeric was not a kid anymore, touched by accusations of his mother not loving him. Loyse at least tried not to hurt him, something even _he_ ignored, sometimes. "Do you understand what a family can mean to a man?" he asked.

Aimeric laughed out loud, it was hysterical.

"For the sake of your children I hope they will understand that blood doesn't have to be family and learn from their nanny instead," he countered. This was the moment his mother came out of the dining hall to look for them.

Her facial expression showed she was trained better than either of them. Even her usual wrinkles were smooth. It was clear she wasn't going to let them fight now.

"Aimeric, have you finished with the cellars? We could have lunch together," she offered. "Your wife starts to become irritated," she turned to Bertrand. He huffed furiously. "It was a long ride, she needs relaxation and proper food now. Come on," she said, with a voice that left no room for argument. Aimeric somehow still managed.

"I'll eat later," he said staring at Bertrand. When he spoke next, his voice was silky-smooth. "I lose my appetite if I have to listen to egoism for too long," he turned toward Loyse, but over his anger, he couldn't actually see. He smiled. "This has been already too long."

* * *

The first letter arrived roughly timed with the spring. The coronation of Prince Laurent was coming and the busyness of the capital almost reached the border regions. Loyse was putting together a gift pack for the king, which was humble enough, but was not overenthusiastic. Guion was still held captive at the capital, or something, but he in theory wrote home to his wife once in a while. Aimeric stopped caring after some time.

Before, he only saw Jord's messy handwriting, when he was to do the cataloging of supplies. It was evident he learned to write well after he knew how to swing a sword, but it was legible enough.

His first impulse was to set it on fire. His second was to tear it to parts, third to feed it to a cow.

A part of him was relieved. It meant Laurent didn't punish Jord for the things technically Aimeric committed against him and Jord only helped with, unintentionally. Jord didn't resent him more than he did out of a romantic heartbreak. The letter proved he resented him minimally.

At least Prince Laurent was just an idiot, but not a cruel one when it came to people who he depended on. At least he had a sense of survival. It came as a surprise after hearing what he did to Damen, his slave or lover - or the Akielon king - in Arles, although it was rumored Prince Laurent knew all along. It was probably a lie, but in the eyes of Prince Laurent every Akielon was someone who took his loved, someone to be punished for that crime. That part Aimeric got.

After wasting half a day trying to ignore the gut wrenching feeling the unread letter gave him - which suspiciously felt like the anti-anticipation he felt at the arrival of his brother - he decided to be the bigger person - than a letter - and he actually opened it.

It was curt and short, it almost left Aimeric disappointed. He wanted to read a letter, which parroted Laurent's words, or his mother's look or it was just the way he felt Jord would act, where he would've misunderstood everything, would've wanted to blame all of Aimeric's decisions on someone he knew nothing of. In that case he could've let out his fury in a response. He could be a bit less cautious for a few days, not to lash out on some poor servant, who committed nothing against him, just existed. Aimeric knew hatred and he always handled it with great care of keeping it, and not letting go.

Jord was simply offering his friendship, and his forgiveness if Aimeric wanted it. And if _he at least explained it or truly regretted it_ was hidden in between lines, it went without saying it. The urge to throw the letter into fire surfaced in Aimeric, again.

Jord was easy on him. That also infuriated Aimeric. He should've hated him, he was not a child lured into something he had no idea about, without comprehension, without choice. He knew what he chose and what he did he was proud of. Of most of the things. Hurting Orlant, someone, who was actual close to him wasn’t his brightest moment, for example. That was something he regretted, even if letting him live was Aimeric's plan's downfall.

Jord, he knew, did a lot of things for him, some of it even lost on Aimeric, Laurent after all was not a sweetheart, giving him a new chance just for the sake of not creating more conflicts. Laurent thrived on conflicts.

He understood what he had to thank to Jord. He knew why he would be always grateful for to Jord, his training, Jord's unbelievable faith in Aimeric and maybe his love too that he gave so selfless and made Aimeric feel special, again after so many years. But it moved very little in him. It just made the anger inside him bubbly with confusion and targeted it against himself too.

Aimeric wanted nothing less, than to feel himself even shittier, to question his own decisions too, question his goals and ways of reaching for it. The fact that Aimeric treated Jord cruelly, and yet Jord was sweet on him, proved he deserved nothing of the things Jord offered. Out of Aimeric unsaid apologies the one given to Jord was the only heartfelt and genuine, but he still couldn't muster a verbal one. He was still working on it.

If he was honest with himself, he missed being in the army. He had to admit it, he used to enjoy those days, and now his time lacked the physical training, the mind-games, the drinking and gossip. They created a strong army out of drunken mercenaries and lowlife thugs. The prince would've never said he was proud or satisfied with them, but the months Aimeric spent in his close proximity, he learnt to understand how Laurent had an annoyed look and a slightly less annoyed look, and Aimeric alongside with the other soldiers learnt which is which, and how to coax the second out of him.

Aimeric also became a good, trained soldier, he knew it had to be that way. He fought _his_ men, when he had to, he fought Laurent's - Orlant's half-surprised, half-furious face not leaving him -, he fought the Akielons at gates of their own capital, before they were let in. In that moment he was still fighting for _him,_ to get inside, to see _him_ , but that was the last moment he had the opportunity to do so.

Aimeric felt dull since then. The loss of _him_ pushed all the other feelings down, the guilt of betraying Jord, or hurting Orlant, the hopelessness about his own future, it was even a bigger emotion than the hatred for Laurent. Aimeric had nothing to do with himself or his own thoughts.

He came home because Laurent told him to do so, he helped with the work at home, because his mother asked him to do, just to fill his time with something, until he found an opportunity, something he waited for his whole life and that he was no longer looking for.

Aimeric started to understand why he was not even given a choice, why he was just something useless. But then he also started to hear Jord's voice, when he laid awake at night, saw Jord’s dark eyes, muscles twitching, like it was they were on the battlefield. Jord was saying those things with such conviction - that it was not Aimeric's fault and that Aimeric was better, deserved better. He said those things to him while Aimeric was sitting in his cell, alone and on a rampage, shouting profanities until his throat was bloody.

Aimeric felt then that Jord understood very little of the situation, but it seemed his words rubbed off on him. In the end Jord was someone Aimeric trusted and didn't think his words useless.

Maybe it wasn't supposed to be the end. If he wouldn't be alone in his grief for _him_ , if Prince Laurent wouldn't have been a spineless snake in the first place, Aimeric might have earned a place in the court and gather supporters, it might have been possible to throw him over. Not for the sake of the throne, just to hurt him as Aimeric was hurt. He could no longer come up with a leader who could lead the country, probably the Akielon dog would took over Vere, before they gathered themselves. That was the only reason Aimeric controlled himself and chose not to drive a knife between the ribs of Laurent.

What was also hard to swallow was that his mother was fond of Laurent. Not everything, thankfully, she did criticize, the soon-to-be, new tax system a bit, she had concerns about the sudden change. She still spoke very little of politics, but she was convinced Laurent was good for the country.

Thanks to the arrival of the spring season - and not officially stated but the lack of his husband - made Loyse a bit looser. She could focus on things she enjoyed, ignored the quarrels of his sons more often and spent more time outside in the sun.

Bertrand - thanks to higher powers - spent a minimal amount of time in Fortaine. He knew nothing of politics, he just saw easy money in Laurent so he tried to smile himself into the court. If Laurent decided to throw him out, Aimeric felt like he would consider him as not the worst leader to ever have the crown possessed. He might have been a fucking killer of his own blood, but at least he had some style. It was petty, he knew, but Laurent actually rejected Bertrand. Not that it was a surprise, Laurent already had Guion. Bertrand wasn't smart enough to understand it.

Bertrand, when he got back, looked pleasantly sour. He also brought news about their father. Guion's life was to be spared, and he would return for the late summer's harvest fest. Technically it wasn't such a big new, Guion's letters were more frequent those days, writing to Loyse, nothing personal, mostly how he wanted his businesses to be ran. The letters were both conceited and calming in their nature. It was a typical Guion thing to do, still act as a king when he was to be charged with treason. In the end he did get away with it.

Aimeric was not worried too much, not even before. Guion was his father, he would've grieved his death, if the situation would've came to that, but he knew both his father and Laurent. The prince only murdered when it gave him some weird perverse satisfaction, even the Akielon dog survived - with a bit of help - and Guion was not such an important person. His father, on the other hand, knew how to use all his leverages, how to make himself indispensable. If he survived the first week of his stay in Arles, Aimeric knew he probably wouldn't even have a single hair on him harmed.

The village and the farm itself was gathering for the celebration of the coronation, to also have a feast for themselves, drinking and dancing. Those were the only times his mother seemed to enjoy herself in the past - the summer fests for example -, so Aimeric got hold of himself. He helped putting up the garlands made out of stick and the newly blooming flowers, with evergreens to decorate them with. The servants started to clean maniacally, the corridors, the windows, the furniture. The whole fort worked like they wanted to hide that it was abandoned for yet another year. It was mildly amusing, and thankfully it mattered less and less as the days went by, what kind of celebration it was, just that it was supposed to be fun. Aimeric wanted no reminder of the soon-to-be king.

Of the celebratory Aimeric had no desire to be a part of, after the meal and a dance with his mother and, just to annoy his brother, a kiss to the young man's cheek Bertrand wanted under himself as his wife was not available for bed-sports those days, he excused himself fairly early and spent the night on a balcony wishing upon the stars.

His chest was less heavy these days and the burning hatred started to evaporate, as he knew it helped nothing. Laurent didn't deserve his attention, even if it was not an admiring attention.

But it left him even emptier. He started to lose his enthusiasm about the revenge too, which left his life even more pointless. He got around to be bored with the work he had to do on the farm again, and also Loyse was perfectly capable of doing it on her own, there was no reason for Aimeric to stay at home. He just had no place to go.

He was waiting for something he was just not sure for what yet.

* * *

It was mid-summer when his other brothers decided to visit Fortaine. Every season they tried to gather at least once, just to please Loyse and feed their wounded egos, by fighting with each other. It was a crime Aimeric was also guilty of.

He tried to remember the time when his brothers weren't so full of themselves. Being almost ten years younger than Bertrand, of him he had no memory being a decent human. The second son of Guion, Corin was a bit better. He worked in the capital as a bureaucrat, living his life in a giant pile of documents, but for one he shared Aimeric's resentment towards Bertrand. It would've been hard not to. As the oldest, Bertrand was to inherit almost everything and it was one of his hobbies to make all the family feel inferior to him. Except when it came to Guion. Around his father he turned into a goddamned lapdog.

The problem with Corin, or the problem that made it hard to connect with him, was that as he set expectations to himself in order to be able to achieve something outside of his family, he wanted to do the same to his little brothers, Frédéric and Aimeric too.

Aimeric always took his advice with goodhearted ignorance, their values differed in great deal and standing the disappointed look from Corin wasn't the hardest thing in the world. Frédéric, on the other hand, always sought his brother's attention, just another family member acting like a little puppy that was scolded more than given sweetmeat. Even Aimeric was smarter than looking for compliments in his brother's words.

Bertrand was coming alone, his wife, having enter the last stage of her pregnancy, chose to stay near the capital, not without reason, but it must've had something to do with Bertrand too, because Aimeric's brother arrived in quite a mood.

Him, Aimeric relearned how to ignore.

Since the first letter of Jord, they were exchanging letters when they had the time to write. First, it was extremely awkward and professional, a captain-soldier relationship they should've maintained for their own good, but it became friendly fast.

Jord wrote him about court gossip, in exchange Aimeric shared his renewed great knowledge about farming. It amused Jord, as he always lived in the city, he liked to hear about types of animals he couldn't even imagine. For example he found guinea fowls endearing by Aimeric's description. The whole thing was innocent and it felt real for once. It was not an act, not from Aimeric's part. That was over when Jord wanted to save him from himself or whatever and Aimeric freaked out. Now it was just friendship as Aimeric have never experienced it.

The lords and their sons, he had the fortune to be friends with, were all artificial and boring. Corin, his brother said, it was just that he wasn't old enough to understand them. Then Aimeric got older and it only got worse. Corin stopped correcting him and just left the scene. It was his way of approving of Aimeric's sarcasm, concerning their father's people, as they liked to call them.

Jord was different. He was practical and pragmatic, and it was a delight. Aimeric even dared to ask for advice from him, in those days about how to fucking deal with his brothers, and even though it was more of a rhetorical question he was delighted to see he actually got a letter before the big family arrived.

It didn't register in him until the moment he opened that particular letter that Jord used the prince's, now king's paper. He must have got a high rank in the army the king built up, if he was supplied with the thicker, smooth, white-ish paper he wrote his letters on. Aimeric used similar products all his life it made no difference to him, so he was surprised it was not Jord's messy letters or his makeshift seal on the envelope, but the seal of the king and annoyingly curved letters.

It was a letter from the king. Maybe not exactly by his hand, maybe some kind of commissioner wrote it, but it was Laurent's message in it. It was an offer to join his army, once again, considering his great performance the first time they would be happy to call Aimeric one of theirs.

This letter Aimeric did threw to the fire and it made his heart a bit lighter too. He tried to concentrate on the fact he would have to spend time with his family and not get overly worked up over something that was actually a gesture. In which Laurent was most likely persuaded into, but Aimeric knew Laurent would've never did it, if it was not something he already thought of. It almost felt nice.

Corin arrived with Frédéric on his side, the latter already chatting cheerfully. Those two resembled each other best in the family, Corin was just the serious, sour faced, document hoarder, while Frédéric was the nature lover, naive, never-seen-a-comb version.

"Aimeric," greeted him Frédéric enthusiastically. He went for a hug before Aimeric had time to deflect it. "You grew," he said with a full smile, while grabbing Aimeric's arms, where he did earn some muscles over the last year. "Did they work you hard?"

"Don't encourage him," said Corin after a scoff. Aimeric raised an eyebrow at him, challenging. "It's already a shame he chose the army instead of the job at the treasury," he said with full conviction.

"I have no intention of turning into an indoor plant like you did," Aimeric said with little bite to his tone. Corin made a face.

"Oh, come on," said Frédéric, with great exaggeration on the words. "We've just arrived, be friendly," he said to Corin, but behind his smile was real intention. Corin sighed, like it was a physical challenge to be less arrogant.

"We should totally duel," turned Frédéric towards Aimeric again. Aimeric opened his mouth to answer, clearly losing from his tempo since his time in the army, because he wasn't fast enough. "See how much they actually taught you," Frédéric winked at him.

"It's almost lunch time, I'm sure mother would be grateful if you chose to eat with us instead of playing boyish games," Corin said.

"Have you never heard of a good exercise? It gives you appetite," Frédéric explained. "Come, just one round, I've been sitting on a horse for days now," he said smiling again, eyes playfully pleading. Aimeric nodded reluctantly. He never sparred with his brother, it probably wasn't the Orlant kind of "friendly" fight with the Akielon or _his_ men or just someone poor soldier who happened to piss him off, but Aimeric avoided his own sword for months like burning iron. In the last few weeks he had it with him, but flinging it was not a routine anymore.

"Do whatever you want," said Corin approving of Frédéric's plan in his own way. Frédéric smiled at him.

They chose the inner garden for their session, where somehow Bertrand was persuaded to be, and even Loyse came with a tired look on her face, which resembled the one they got in their childhood after some misadventure. With almost the whole family present it did turn into something heavier, it was a place they needed to prove themselves, and when Frédéric stepped in front of him, his face wasn't so playful anymore, he looked a bit uncertain. Aimeric smiled as cheeky as he could, it was just a game, it only had to be serious if they let it become that.

Frédéric smiled back, nervously, and attacked.

Aimeric felt it in his bones that he was not that practiced anymore. He still had his strength, helping in the fields was not easy on him, but his arms lacked the fluidity of movement they used to have. For a minute or so.

It was clear the army was not just playing games. He parried a few attacks and he felt the buzz again, the buzz of the exercise, the fight, with so much intensity it almost scared him. He tried not to be connected to his past like that but he actually enjoyed it.

When he attacked first, he couldn't help but smile. It was nice to do this again.

His style and Frédéric's was very different. His brother learned it as a sport with elegance and mind, while when Aimeric was actually put to it, learned the harsh tactics and nothing for the show. The latter seemed to prove more useful. Maybe you needed to be a Veretian king to perfect the first way of dueling.

Frédéric was without question surprised. He started to make silly moves, more desperate each time. He often looked sideways to their family and Aimeric started to understand. Now that Aimeric proved to be much better, he was not so fond of getting lectured.

It was not Aimeric's intention. He just used what he learned and it made Frédéric sweat more than any of them anticipated.

He tried to act casual, he let the fight drag out for minutes until the tension started to be dangerous.

When Frédéric was making the third very stupid decision Aimeric understood. He was a better swords man, which was bit of a surprise, a surprise he hated how he actually enjoyed.

He became a soldier, it was supposed to be evident, but everyone was so used to the fact Aimeric couldn't be the best in anything in their family that no one had thought. Not even him. But he was a soldier in Laurent's army, of course he was better than Frédéric, and Frédéric was in no means a bad one. Far from it, but far from Aimeric too.

Frédéric was almost completely losing it, his victory was not just a win for him now, it was his status as Corin's enthusiastic pupil and his own sanity too.

Aimeric, for once, was better in something, but not just in sword fights but in losing too. He didn't need this victory.

He let his grip on the sword get loose and next second, it fell out of hand, onto the ground as it contracted with Frédéric's. The garden was silent for a minute, only their heavy breathing was heard.

Bertrand started to clap in a mocking manner that went with his tone. "Wow, so exciting, can we eat now." It was evident he was going crazy inside, in his jealousy.

Aimeric looked at Frédéric and he looked back so joyous Aimeric smiled himself.

"You got good," Frédéric breathed out, "real good."

"Yeah, well King Laurent earned his name," he said dismissively. "We trained hard and under great command."

"You deserve the lunch, boys," said Loyse with a small smile on her lips. Aimeric had the faintest feeling that she knew what just actually happened. She looked proud, proud of them both.

"I could eat a whole pig," he joked, picking his sword up. Loyse actually smirked at him.

The lunch was a square meal, they eat in mostly silence, Frédéric was in a good mood after the duel and he shared his most recent adventures with the family, but mostly Loyse listened.

During it, Bertrand's kids also arrived from their trip they've took with their tutor and they were sent to play with the servants' kids, something Bertrand only approved of because he could ignore his responsibilities of being a father to his children.

Their screaming only made Bertrand’s foul mood get darker, the servant he ordered more wine from, after Bertrand’s scolding, left the dinner hall with tears in his eyes. Bertrand started to get furious even.

"Don't treat our people like that," said Loyse in a diplomatic manner she often used on their father. This and the noise that left Bertrand's mouth, promised a decent fight. Corin looked between the two of them to understand the nature of the situation better, Frédéric was already ignoring them.

"It's my fucking home, I do as I please," he said voice dark and low, standing up with his cup in hand. Loyse tried to will Bertrand to sit back by giving a stern look to his back as he turned away.

"Yes, as it is mine too. And I ask you kindly not to treat the servants like that," she said voice earnest.

The pang of Bertrand's cup on the floor was very loud. Aimeric winced in his seat, Frédéric, who usually could hardly stand the mocking air their father used to create, was clearly uncomfortable in the opening of the fight. Corin kept his head down looking into his plate. Loyse stood up fast.

"Don't be a child, Bertrand. Tell me why you are upset," she said, and it aimed to be a verbal caress but it was belittling.

"It's not the Regent's court anymore, it's the stupid bitch's," he said almost shouting. "We don't fucking need to support him, we shouldn't," he said voice shaking with emotions. "And not with a double supply," he said, gesturing vehemently.

"That was for his 21th birthday and coronation," said Loyse slowly, like she was actually talking to a child. "You must understand that as your father made the decision for the whole family to support the Regent, his failure is ours too. The only reason your father's alive is thanks to his relationships and great knowledge of how to flatter people," she explained. "What I wanted to secure with the gift is the future of my family. It was a one time thing, something to make him see we support him. In which case he might not send his soldiers here and hang your wife and children as traitors," she said, words getting harsh by the end.

"It was not your decision to make," he said voice so low, Aimeric almost couldn't catch it.

"I work here, I manage the harvest, the trades, the people. This is my land, before it is yours and as long as you only show up four times a year, I might ask for your opinion, but I make the final decision, clear, son?" she asked.

Bertrand's hand shot up and he pulled it back like he wanted to strike down. Loyse's eyes flickered, and she stepped back, half a step, but moved no more. Aimeric moved without realizing it, he stood up so fast, he got dizzy for a second.

Loyse stole a glance at Aimeric's direction, eyes disbelieving what she saw, but turned back to Bertrand immediately. In the stretched moment Aimeric turned back to the table and saw how his brothers pulled their shoulders up, shielding themselves from the situation.

"Are you going to hit me?" Loyse asked with cold indifference, but it was not completely believable that she was without fear.

Aimeric could almost see himself hunching in his seat next to his brothers as he did for years so long. He turned to his mother again.

"Like your father does?" asked Loyse and Bertrand's hand trembled for a moment.

Why had everyone in their fucking family had to fight their battles alone and why no one helped anyone? Aimeric was on the verge of asking, of crying out for everyone in the room to see it.

"Step the fuck away," said Aimeric, getting his voice back. It was firmer than he thought it would be. He wasn't scared anymore of his brother hitting him. Bertrand turned to him, his fury now targeted at him.

"You don't fucking tell me what to-

"Aimeric, go outside," came the harsh command from his mother. Aimeric wanted to step back. Her eyes were pleading for him to go. He needed to leave because it was not his business. He needed to leave because people did this all the time. He did it and it was done to him. He now understood what it meant.

He saw the small boy next to _him,_ and saw the mother unable to do anything because he felt it too. The inability to help, the pain of being useless, the fear, oh, the fear.

He saw the small boy next to _him_ at the court and he knew what it meant. He knew what it meant for _him,_ what any of them meant for _him_. He knew but for some time he couldn't quite believe it.

And it wasn't Aimeric's fault and it wasn't his mother's, it wasn't even entirely his father's, it was all _his_ fault.

He knew he could leave now, leave Loyse to talk herself out of getting beaten by her own son, but weren't children supposed to make something even greater from the things they got from their parents? Weren't they supposed to create a better world than what their parents gave to them?

Guion might have raised all of his sons the way he did, but he was not the only one raising his kids. He was not powerful enough to raise all of them like that.

"I fought in a bloody war, you know," he said voice heavy. His sword was still on the floor next to his chair, but there were several dull but heavy objects near them. "I might not be worthy of your damn silks, but out of the two of us, I was the one to serve in an actual army. I am not scared of you."

Bertrand scoffed which turned into hysterical laughter. Out of the corner of his eyes Aimeric saw Frédéric twitch in his seat.

"Don't fucking kid yourself," Bertrand shouted at him. "You were sent there because you are a fucking whore!"

"Bertrand," warned Loyse harsher than Aimeric thought she could muster now.

"You know what father thinks of you?" his brother asked. "Well, not _thinks_ , we all now it's the truth. Everyone knows. It's common knowledge in Arles. It explains why the new king is so fond of you."

"Bertrand, get yourself together, son!"

"Because both of you are little cocksucker bitches, good for nothing playthings, screwing up the simplest task! You are nothing but a cockwarmer for old men and a shitty one. He didn’t keep you, did he?" Loyse was screaming at him to stop and Aimeric felt like he might have had, but he only heard the thrumming of his blood and, somehow, his brother’s words, starting again. "You are not a soldier, you would be in the army if you were one, but they only kept you there to use you as a leverage against father. Don’t you think he knew that? He knew that and he was fucking overjoyed, he didn’t have to lose a precious son, he would’ve only lost you."

Aimeric stepped forward again, fingers curling into fists.

"You think you achieved anything?" Bertrand’s voice was almost calm now. "Do you really? You helped nothing, you hear me? You were sent there to save the fucking Regent and to support his plan, weren’t you? You are not smart enough to do it on your own, but at least your fucking lover had a sense of mind! You were an easy sacrifices for to the Regent too, never seeing you again was probably something he wanted." Bertrand was smiling. "You are not worth anything. You are not a soldier and not a fucking farmer either, you fucking know that, right? You are just a piece of trash father and the Regent used as they pleased, because you couldn't and still can’t see farther than your own fucking nose."

Aimeric was stuck at place. He knew, he knew all of these and could tell himself it was not true, he knew his brother and father were assholes, they just wanted to hurt him. He knew he was stronger and it was infuriating he still fought with his tears.

Bertrand was stepping away from them, chest heaving, and someone was crying with hiccups but it wasn't Aimeric, at least he wasn't weeping. He just registered that Bertrand's oldest, his ten-year-old daughter came inside, he wasn't sure when, and she was weeping, probably from the noise. She couldn't know half of the words her father was saying.

He distantly heard as his mother dismissed everyone and the noise the heavy chairs made as his brothers left the dinner hall, but he could see nothing, his eyes were full of tears, of anger, of hatred, of desperation.

He knew, logically that what was thrown at him was false, but he felt like it was true. It was so true… Aimeric when hating himself, couldn't even voice it so clearly.

He was a stupid boy falling for someone who never truly reciprocated his feelings, a whore sent to seduce soldiers, soldiers who would fuck a better looking goat and Aimeric still screwed it up. He felt useless and worthless so many times.

He was shivering with everything bubbled up erupting inside him. He knew Loyse was still with him in the room and as she touched his cheeks lightly the words just fell out of his mouth.

" _He_ left me, mom," he said voice broken, like a little child crying for his toys. "Not just in _his_ death. _He_ said _he_ loved me and _he_ left me." Aimeric started to understand how _he_ never cared about him. Not really.

For weeks now his chest, slowly, oh so slowly, but surely was getting less and less punctured, and thinking about _him_ hurt less and less as days went by. He even thought less of _him,_ or if _his_ feelings were true or not, _he_ was the monarch after all, _he_ might have lied to Aimeric for some reason. For the greater good _he_ might have needed Aimeric's help, but not his heart. Aimeric started to feel like it was truly a trap as everyone seemed to understand it. He felt stupid all over again, for not seeing, for not caring what _he_ made him into. He lacked breath all of sudden.

"Listen to me," his mother said quietly but with a firm tone. "He was an awful man and his only act that wasn't soaked with cruelty was leaving this place. He never deserved you, he should've never even known of you," she said on the verge of tears, guilt tangible in her words.

"Look at me," his mother demanded. Aimeric turned towards his mother, but closed his eyes. "Look at me, Aimeric," she said softer this time. "Believe me when I say it, you are not weak, you are not useless, you are not any of those thing your father or Bertrand wants you to act like," she said with full conviction.

Aimeric found it a bit hard to believe her, but opened his eyes after all. Loyse's eyes were wild and very grayish-brownish.

"It's an act your father needs in order not to be beheaded," she explained. Aimeric still kept his mouth shut. "Are you going to believe him? Your father, who would sell his own finger in exchange for rank? Hmm? "

Aimeric tried to look away, but Loyse held his face strong between her hands. He could've escaped, of course, yet the power of mothers were stronger than the power of muscles.

"Or, do you believe your brothers who act like children, going to their keens for the smallest praise they can get from people who never respected them?" Her voice was getting thicker with emotion. "Or do you believe your soldier friends, the commanders and kings who are so sure you need their saving, it's something they have the right to do to you?"

Aimeric curled his fingers around Loyse's wrists, still lacking the power to actually get her hands off him. In all honest it felt nice. Her warm palms, somehow, made it easier to be this sad.

When she spoke again, her voice was without anger or pain. It was clear and quiet. "Or do you believe your mother? Who saw you grow up, saw you sad and happy, saw you at your best and at your worst? "

Aimeric was crying. He wasn't sure why, but his mother's eyes were also wet.

"I… I couldn't protect you back then and sometimes I still cannot," she said softly, caressing his cheeks. "I wasn't strong enough and I'm… So sorry." She shook herself. "But you are so much stronger than me, you already did it without me." Aimeric only _felt_ what the thing was that he did, rather than being able to name it.

"It wasn't your fault," he said, words a bit choked back. It was everyone's. His father's for not knowing better ways to make a fortune, it was his mother's for turning her head away, it was the world's, for letting _him_ act as a good man.

"I'm sorry, son," she said quietly. "I will carry the burden of my acts for ever, but make no mistake, I'm not going to let you carry them. It was never your fault," she repeated it.

Aimeric suddenly felt cold as Loyse took her hands away. He wanted to be hugged again, like when he was a young boy. He feared to voice it, in the case instead of words, ugly cries were to fall out of his mouth.

"Your father is an ambitious man, but only for his own interest. Your mother is a survival but only when it concerns her," she said, voice so dark it cut into Aimeric. "We worked so hard to ruin all of our boys, and you all still turned out so beautiful," she said voice aflutter.

Aimeric wanted to say she wasn't like his father, that at least she tried but he was still lost on words, he wasn’t even sure if it would’ve been true.

"We made it hard for you and you still have it in you to fight. And that we can't take, not now, not ever," she said with confidence. Aimeric for a long time believed he had something to fight for. Now he started to feel that special something again, but this time it wasn't desperation, it was more out of hope and determination.

"You are a wonderful, brilliant, skilled man, full of opportunities," she said with a small smile. "All of you are."

Aimeric flushed. His mother rarely complimented any of them like this and he started to see why it was not so unfortunate. It made him a bit dizzy with pride and uncomfortable with the awkwardness and the fact he felt he deserved only some of it. "You achieved things I couldn't even imagine. And believe me, a mother will imagine her kids to bring the starry skies down to the Earth."

"Then your imagination might lack some of its glory," he said a smile playing on his lips. Loyse looked at him the way she did when Aimeric was caught playing in the nearby pond second time a day, when it was prohibited by his father. Bit tired but not truly mad at him.

"I'll check upon the boys. Take your time," she turned to leave with a smile. He wanted to joke about something, like _make sure Corin eats enough of his carrots_ , but he couldn't come up with a witty comment.

The conversation left him somewhat conflicted. He heard the same thing again and again from people he least expected it, about his worth, about his strength, about his skills. Jord should've been mad at him, the king shouldn't even gave a shit about him in general and his mother should've known better.

Yet they all told the same. In different ways, of course, but it was the same message. And after all this many days spent wondering since the death of the late Regent of Vere, he felt like he might have got over it. He might have been used by _him_ , he might have been used by every fucking one he’d ever known, but fuck them. He still got out of it, so now he was winning wasn't he?

He didn't return to the dinner table or the living room. His brothers had their own things to sort out. Instead he got a hold of himself and sat down to write an answer to the king. He politely declined to be a soldier of an army which made him the man he was, but could give him no more.

* * *

After the time he spent in the army and thanks to his own voluntary farming work, Aimeric made himself like mornings. At least he had the observation, he came to like them. He remembered vividly, how he despised the chirping of early birds, when he needed to get up before sunrise in his younger years.

There was something about the collected calmness, the hope of a better day. It had the same effect as the nights had at the camp, satisfaction and planning in the air, but without the exhaustion or the heaviness of the day gone by.

He had already packed his bag, he made sure he was ready to leave early in the morning, definitely to avoid any other human. He met like two servants, smiling politely at him, finding it charming he preferred morning just like them. Thankfully he avoided Bertrand. Thinking about him and their father filled him with less resentment each day. He, finally, saw how one day he might wake up and be truly neutral towards them. Not yet, for sure, but it was at least on the horizon of his life.

The corridors were deserted and from one of the servants he knew the kitchen was also lonely at the first streak of dawn. He choose to get himself some food from last night's dinner, they always left something behind, even when they had five men in the household. Loyse usually gave it to poorer villagers in the evenings.

He took a liberal amount of bread and vegetables from last night's meal and some salted meat from the cellar, which was ready for when someone wanted to take a hunting trip. He commanded himself not to take some of the sweet things, and he left the freshly baked goods too, which was a sign that the kitchen wasn't as deserted as he would have preferred it. His supplies were enough to survive until he arrived at the east-northern part of Vere, where he put his first mark of destination.

In his bag he also had a map of Vere and of Vask, a few coins, a bottle of water and things he would require to have a good night sleep under the stars. He had his sword with him, just in case. He did look more like a wealthier soldier, then the aristocrat he hated to be.

Last night he cut his hair shorter, it was not reaching his shoulders anymore. He resembled his own self, when he left for King Laurent's mission, yet he felt more collected and he looked less pale. He looked less like a child and maybe for the first time in his life he was in peace with his features.

Aimeric was almost too lost in his thoughts to hear the door to the spice garden creak. He debated to leap to the other side of the kitchen, throw the door open and run, but it seemed rather childish. It was just probably a servant.

Of course, it was not a servant, it was his mother.

Loyse, with a gigantic hat on her head, with a small basket full of freshly harvested parsley stepped inside. She looked at Aimeric, took him in from his travel jacket, his bag, his sword to his cut hair, freshly shaven face and expression of a hunted deer.

"Where are you going?" she asked voice casual, her eyes not even flickering. She looked like she had a good night's rest and she was pretty in her gardening dress. She looked better than, well, since forever.

"I'm just going in to the town," he lied. Loyse hummed and Aimeric knew without question that he was not fooling her. "Just for a bit," he said apologetically for the thing he couldn't say aloud and for the thing he was committing. Again. "It'll might take some time." He was busted, he was so busted. Loyse’s lips twitched upwards out of attentiveness.

"You'll come home, right?" she asked quietly. Aimeric wanted his heart not to break from hearing it in her tone that if Aimeric said no, she would've still let him.

"Of course," he answered with the first true thing in the morning. Of that he was sure. "I might be a bit late, but..." He couldn't finish it. Loyse reached out to the fruit basket that was left on the chest of twigs, next to the stove.

"Take an apple with you," she said and with a graceful movement of her wrist threw Aimeric a shiny, red apple. She smiled, almost playfully, seeing Aimeric's stunned reaction to her carefree motion. "You never know when you might need one."

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays (or what's left of them) and eat an apple!
> 
> (Find me on [tumblr](http://answermywearyquery.tumblr.com/).)


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